Day 105/365: Fasteners. WTF.

You are not getting pictures of fasteners today. I have no pictures of fasteners. I really don't know why that even got on the list, actually.

I wanted to post a bit of prose/poetry that I've written, but I'm still going to post a few pictures so you still have something pretty to look at.

This first bit of prose/poetry whatever has been unfinished since probably some time last year.

"Laying in the field of clover, I heard you slip away

Across the valley, to the car, you got in and drove away

And I heard the words you never read from the note you never wrote

And they became the cloud of heavy summer air where you used to be

Where we used to walk at night when it was cool

Where we used to laugh and talk of fanciful things

Like what we'd do with lottery winnings

And what it might be like to fly..."

That's about all I've got. I'm a little hesitant to post my poetry because I am not very good as a writer and have never been especially talented with words. The line about "the note you never wrote" is a nod to Paul McCartney and Wings' song "The Note You Never Wrote".

This next bit is a little more personal. I have never been close to my mom's aunt and uncle, but they were nice and I liked them. Just a couple years ago they were both put in a nursing home, at slightly different times. My great aunt has alzheimers really bad so that's why she went in. Then my great uncle was becoming frail in his old age (he was in his mid 80s) and while he was more "there" so to speak, he still wasn't quite right. Most of the poem sat unfinished for a bit, while he was still alive.
Earlier this year he died. I added the last couple lines some time after that.

"Sold the house for nursing home money

Now I truly am trapped here 

Waiting to die.

To add insult to injury

I also hear we're selling the car

My car

God, I'm so pissed about it.

As for my physical pain, I can't be angry about that

After all, I'm the one who chose to fall down those stairs carrying that storm window

Don't judge me for it. 

You'd try to kill yourself too if your wife couldn't recognize you anymore.

For fifty years it's been just she and me. No kids. No alzheimers.

Now my body is withering away around me and this stupid stark white bed.

I can barely move and can speak even less.

My wife has lost her mind, but at least she can move around on her own.

Some days she calls me her boyfriend, others a familiar pair of pleading eyes that she just can't place.

Yet she remembers the names of childhood pets

and the words to old time country songs.

We had a good life, but I never thought it would end this way.

When I die, she won't even know I'm gone..."

Now, did take one liberty. It's true that my great uncle did fall down the stairs carrying a storm window. What isn't true is that he did it on purpose. There is nothing to suggest that he did it on purpose, but who knows.

I am open to constructive criticism, but keep in mind that I am no poet. I'm not a writer. I'm a visual artist.
Speaking of which, here are the pretty pictures I promised you.

Graffiti on the back wall of a building in town. It has since been painted over but it was up for months.

A cute little drawing I did, inspired by the Corinne Bailey Rae song "Call me when you get this".

My reflection in a mirror at Burlington Coat Factory...I messed with the hue and saturation in post editing.

You've probably already seen this before but I don't care. Craig Ferguson in a Willie Nelson wig is pretty much WIN and as such I can't resist posting.

Only in a state like Iowa are you going to come across this sight; a caravan of old people on motorcycles, and then a frickin tractor driving on the shoulder.

Tomorrow's theme is "favorite things", and that should be infinitely easier to deal with than today's theme. Seriously. What the fuck. Fasteners. NO.